


Movement

by Beta_Jawn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mind Palace, POV John Watson, Song: Movement (Hozier)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 18:57:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beta_Jawn/pseuds/Beta_Jawn
Summary: John hears a strange noise in the night...





	Movement

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Hozier's song Movement, feel free to listen while you read! Hope you like it.
> 
> Look at the end for a link to the image of inside the mind palace!

I snapped awake suddenly and all at once, panic caused my heart to feel as if it were being ripped from my chest. My lungs were cramped in their cage and my shoulder throbbed instinctively at the already forgotten nightmare. The content had left but the echoes of explosions in my skull left no doubt as to what it was about. 

I tossed and turned, kicking the blankets from myself, unable to regulate my temperature or find a comfortable position in which to return to sleep. Closing my eyes did nothing. I tried to think of five things that all started with the same letter. Complete bullshit. I counted the stripes of light cast on the floor boards from the street lamp and tired to regulate my breathing.

That’s when I heard it.

A low calm melody wafted up the stairs. If I had been just a little more sleep fogged I would have missed it. A violin was quietly singing from the darkness. 

That’s bloody odd…

This was not a sound I associated with our flat. Sherlock’s prerogative was to pull abusively loud notes from his violin when he found himself lost on a case, almost exclusively in the dead of night. We were certainly working a particularly troublesome case and it was rolling up on two in the morning...but the calm music invading my senses did not have the expected soothing effect. I’d much rather have been awoken by a familiar screeching than this sweet song.

What if something's wrong, what if it’s a warning.

The remnants of the panic from my dream flared again, crawling through my sternum and into my limbs. I couldn’t move fast enough.Without bothering with lights or shoes I took the cool creaking stairs two at a time, skipped the threshold entirely, opened my mouth to call out to Sherlock but I was silenced in my place. The most peculiar scene greeted me and I found myself at a loss of words.

Standing still as death was Sherlock, perched upon our coffee table, fingers steepled, lost deep in his mind palace the gentle waft of an errant curl the only real proof that he was even breathing. It was fair to assume he was oblivious to the world around him despite relinquishing his typically reclined position. Even so, I was afraid any errant step might spook him from his stupor. 

What do I do? Do I leave him? Should I be concerned?

I allowed my gaze to leave my flatmate and examine the scene. Case files were strewn about, autopsy photos and police reports scattered across the couch, floor and a particularly gruesome photo was protruding from beneath Sherlocks’ left foot. He had clearly been in the midst of a strop, trashing the living room before retreating into his fortress of solitude. The cushions of the couch were in a disarray and his chair laid upon its side. Thankfully, my own chair had remained free from the abuse. A particularly jubilant chord brought me back to my original concern,the source of the music was not his own violin but a record quietly emoting from its place by the window. Still an unusual choice for the situation, it wasn’t really his usual style. I stood perplexed for what seemed like an eternity but the scene remained unchanged. It occurred to me that nothing horrible had happened to my friend and yet I could not push my feet back up the stairs.

Despite feeling like I might have interrupted some oddly personal moment, I held my place. It was rare, these moments, few and far between, that I could just observe him. Not many can say they have basked in the force of nature that was Sherlock Holmes. Even in a brief moment of quiet he was still a conundrum. This man whose stillness was absolutely expansive, taking up all the air in the room without even being on the same plane as the rest of us. Seeing him now, full stop, still as stone on our coffee table, there was an odd sense of reverence. My panic had long since left my body but a new feeling had set up camp in its place. It was replaced by an odd and dull ache wrapped around my heart. 

What is wrong with you Watson?

We exist here together, and yet we are worlds apart. I am on the other side of the ocean, treading water to barely keep up with this creature who sails effortlessly through the waves around us. Sherlock is a verb, an action, a call to something I didn't have a name for, pulling every fiber of my being forward. Even his stillness beckoned me forth ready to follow him the moment he breathed the syllables of my name.The song continued to envelope us as it rolled through the room and I could feel laughter bubbling up but I fought to contain it’s wildness. 

I am well and truly fucked, what have I gotten myself into? 

When did this happen? How did we get from ‘here, use mine’ to reverent staring at two in the morning? I’d had nothing, I’d felt like I was no one, I’d believed I was worthless and unimportant. Now with the quirk of an eyebrow or the smirk of a lip my limbs were ready to dash off after this madman into whatever situation lay ahead with an unabashed devotion and enthusiasm.

He reminded me of everything I used to be, the person I had always wanted to be. He’d pushed me to be better, think faster and act braver. He renewed me, made me want to continue to be who I hadn’t been strong enough to be. I was given a home and a purpose, things I’d never believed I’d have again. It had been so long since I laughed, smiled, run, felt such annoyance and experienced such pride. So long since I felt alive. How do you repay someone for that? How do you really thank them? How do you tell someone like Sherlock Holmes you love him? 

I love Sherlock Holmes. Fuck.

I sighed, scrubbing a hand across my face at the absurdity of the moment. John Watson what have you gotten yourself into? I leaned into the doorframe, still unable to extricate myself from the scene. I knew full well the trouble I found myself in and knew I’d keep diving headfirst every time the opportunity presented itself. I looked again to his softly rising chest, thankful that he remained in his mind palace, unable to see the hopeless look of devotion seared across my face against my will. 

Something had changed, the air had shifted ever so slightly in the room. I blinked at him, then I blinked again. I had to rub at my eyes just to be sure I was seeing it. At first I thought it must be a trick of the shadows, the movement, but it wasn’t. He was swaying then, so very lightly swaying, to the gentle violin crooning from the player. His curls bounced so minutely against his forehead and neck. I stopped breathing nearly, utterly transfixed by this new and very different development. 

He’s dancing...

He's dancing in his mind palace. 

What alternate universe had I wandered into this morning? It was like watching a sleeping child or puppy, limbs gently mimicking the grand adventure playing across their dreams. He wasn’t engaging in large sweeping motions but you could see it, as his body began to join the rhythm initiated by his feet and his head. Even in such stunted movements he was naturally graceful, hell when he was tumbling down an ally after a criminal he was still graceful. It’s infuriating. His arms began to slightly rock, catching up with the rest of him and it burned within me, a desperate want to see inside his mind palace. I wanted to know why he was dancing, I wanted to know who he was dancing with...or for. Sherlock Holmes didn’t dance….did he?

There was so much I knew about him and so much I didn’t. I was swimming in this sea of uncertainty and not caring a bit if I drowned. I’d learn as much as I could, I’d learn everything he had to show me. He was a riddle I wanted all the answers to. He swayed before me, like a tree caught in the wind and it was hypnotizing. My fingertips tapped a pattern against my thigh, following along. I would always follow him wherever he took me.

Despite his hectic nature he brought a sense of clarity to my life. It brought a smile to my lips to imagine what played in the movie of his mind palace, to think of him actually dancing, moving and freely having fun. I knew somewhere in the depths of my being that it wasn’t just a place he solved mysteries and murders but where he stored a host of other places, people, and important things he had encountered. It must have been a comforting place he found himself now, the barest of smiles gracing his face.

There were days I could see it, just a glimpse, just a shadow, that flew across his eyes. Sherlock held the world upon his shoulders, believed he was the only one that would be able to find the answer to these problems and he would not walk away no matter how much he might wish he could. He deserved a moment of peace, even if it was just in his mind palace. 

Maybe this time, I could convince him to take a break, just a short one when this case was done. A week, a few days, anything. We could go somewhere he wanted to see. I could find somewhere he’d actually eat, I wasn’t sure he’d had more than a handful of biscuits this week and only because I’d forced him to. Not to mention this was the closest he'd come to rest and it certainly didn’t count as sleep. I was getting worried about what happened if he went to long before one of his epic marathon crashes. I'd seen true sleep deprivation before and I'd care not to see it again.

His dance continued, a slight shifting had begun in his feet and I worried he might topple clear off the table. Indecision rolled in my gut, unsure if I should invade his space to steady him if he fell or if I should stay the distance and give him his space. I crossed just into the living room, avoiding debris on my way to stand beside our couch when a new sound invaded my senses. He was humming, just quietly humming to himself. How long had he been doing that? It was difficult to know if it had just begun or if it was too quiet to hear from the distance I had been. It was a beautiful and captivating sound, rolling across my skin like honey. The breath was pulled away from my lungs and I swallowed around a lump in my throat. This man who was so deeply flawed but so completely free of expectations would never cease to amaze me. It was one of the few things I was completely certain of.

That tingle returned to my fingers, the urge to join him on the table, take him into my arms and sway along was almost to much to bear. This was ridiculous, completely absurd. My internal debate of dancing with him was over almost as soon as it began though as my flatmate returned to his body with all the force of a car wreck. He pulled in a gasp of air, frantic movement startling me backwards, almost tumbling over the arm of the sofa. 

“It was the lepidopterist!” he exclaimed, hands gesticulating wildly as he slid along the table on the crime scene photos beneath his feet. He saved himself, landing with a loud thud and trailing evidence in his wake. His curls bounced around his face, his robe swirling around him like the wings of a great bird and the stormy confusion of earlier was gone from his eyes. They shown with a bright intensity as he grinned wickedly. He stormed into his bedroom, slamming drawers and wardrobe doors as he continued to spout puzzle pieces to himself. He strode back out, fingers raking through the disheveled mop upon his head, eyebrows furrowed as he stalled before me. 

“John? Did you hear a word I’ve said? We have a killer to catch and here you are standing in your pant-” before I could think it through I had silenced his rant with my mouth upon his. I could feel the barest beginnings of stubble beneath my hands, thumbs resting on his ridiculous cheekbones. His lips were soft and pliant beneath me, shock turning to reciprocation delightfully quickly. When I relinquished him, he blinked owlishly at me, the barest blush tinging his face and ears, lips pink and kiss swollen. 

“Yeah Sherlock, I heard you. Slow down a minute ok? I need to put some trousers on.” I left him there, retreating up the stairs, heart hammering in my chest loud enough for the entire building to hear. Worst case scenario I would be looking for another place to live. Best case, I would get to do that again. I didn’t even bother with the light in my room just grabbed the nearest trousers and shoes, then dressed with shaking hands. My previous bravado was leeching away at the edges but I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, no backing down now.

Heading back I expected Sherlock to have left me behind, or to pretend that nothing had happened. I was more than a little surprised to see he hadn’t in fact moved at all. He still had the same wide eyed stare, mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t quite find the right words to say which I’m sure was driving him absolutely mad. I moved towards him, encroaching upon his space as he so often did mine. 

“What are you waiting for? I thought we had a murderous lepidopterist to apprehend?” I licked my lips, rested my hands on my hips and looked up into his eyes. His beautiful mind came back online then and the smirk that crossed his face, the amusement and wonder that I glimpsed in his gaze made my heart race. 

“Of course, after you. Though, I believe we have some things to discuss at the conclusion of this case.” He offered, trying to retain his previously focused demeanor as he retrieved his belstaff. 

“Do we?” He handed me my jacket then with a look I have come to love. The one that says I’ve missed the obvious.

“Most certainly.”

“Does it involve me kissing you again?” I asked, setting my jacket right. No need to appear desperate Watson.

“One would clearly hope so. Though we have far more to consider than that.” Now I’d gotten an eye roll. Things were getting downright interesting.

“I would imagine we do, care to start with some topics of interest?” I move in close, noses almost touching, breaths puffing across each others faces as I straightened his collar, leaving no question that the brushes of our bodies were entirely intentional. 

“You’re wasting time John, the sooner we apprehend our assalent and dodge Gerald the sooner we address certain...issues.” I barked out laughter then, leaving my hands upon his arms, confused annoyance fueling the scowl on his face.

“Will you ever call him Greg?” 

“Inconsequential!” and he was gone from beside me in a flurry of coat down the stairs. 

There was no keeping the grin from my face, no denying the adrenaline as it pumped through my veins. This time it wasn’t just the case though...there was so much more waiting for me at the end of this chase. Off I went, skipping steps and clomping boots to catch up with my madman. As usual we were two odd sights, running through the night, headlong towards adventure and danger. Exactly where we were supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Mind Palace: Let's dance.
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/142217365@N02/47966747021/in/dateposted-public/)


End file.
